Tag Archives: beer

Floripa Madness!

There are certain places on this big fuck-off blue ball called Earth that I truly believe I was drawn to. Whether to meet someone who would touch my soul or to experience something that would change my life, I didn’t choose to visit these destinations – they chose me. Florianopolis, in the south of Brazil, is one of those very special places. I stumbled in for what I thought would be three nights and now I’m regretfully stumbling out 15 days later, feeling as though I’ve experienced a lifetime in a single fortnight. Yeah, Floripa is a pretty damn cool place.

It was by pure chance that I ended up visiting the island. As well as boasting some of the greatest surf breaks and paragliding sites on the planet, Florianopolis was also at the centre of a major international drug smuggling ring for many years. The story of drug runners and millionaire kingpins was told in Kathryn Bonella’s fantastic book Operation Playboy, which my old man read a few months ago. He told me to read it, I did, and the picture painted of Florianopolis meant that I had to include it on my trip through South America. And they say drugs aren’t good for anyone!

The actual city of Floripa is nice enough, straddling the coast of Santa Catarina and the edge of Ilha de Santa Catarina, but the true beauty comes from some of the further flung spots. There are 42 beaches on the island, and most of them are spectacular. I set up camp in the hills overlooking Barra da Lagoa, a fishing village lined with palm trees and golden sand. It’s a peaceful place that reminds me of Bali, with monkeys swinging from the trees, bamboo houses, open-air bars and restaurants, and a good vibe. As I walked down the beach for the first time, with emerald hills rising above me and the azure waves crashing at my feet, I already knew that three nights wouldn’t be enough.

People check out Drunk and Jobless for the naked photos of me humping statues and wild stories of alcohol-fuelled debauchery, so I’m not going to post an entry that reads like a teenager’s diary, but I was fortunate enough to meet someone wonderful on that mystical island off the coast of South America. Someone who showed me the beauty of Brazilian culture, taught me that beer belongs in the freezer even when it’s cold out, didn’t judge me for wearing skin-tight womens leggings in public, and introduced me to the magic of caipirinha and the kilo lunch. We spent enough time together that I now wear thongs inside and wash my underpants in the shower, like a true Brazilian. Floripa is a place anyone would enjoy, but one person made it truly incredible for me.

Right, the mushy stuff’s over, somoving on. Florianopolis is a magical island, and if you’re drawn there, don’t fight it. Go snorkelling, hike up mountains, drink cheap beer in great bars by the water, sit in the sun and smile, perve on stunning women wearing G-bangers, wear a G-banger yourself and not feel like you’re being judged for doing so, lie in a hammock and watch the world roll past, gorge yourself on pizza for three meals a day, enjoy strolling through the crime-free streets, visit the nudist beach, get caught in a Brazilian truckers strike and not be able to go anywhere because there’s no petrol, swim in crystal clear waters, kayak past the most incredible waterfront houses you’ll ever see, dance the samba with locals, end up with lots of useless change in your pocket, and watch the sun set over the water with a good bottle of cheap wine. Fifteen years wouldn’t be enough time there, let alone 15 days, so there’s a pretty good chance I’ll be back. Put the Brahma in the fridge!

Advertisements

Punta Arenas – Industrial wasteland at the end of the world

After the lush, green beauty of Chile’s Los Lagos district, flying into Patagonia was like soaring into another dimonsion. Over the course of the most remarkable plane trip of my life the trees, mountains and volcanoes gave way to gnarled shrubs, murky swamps and endless flatlands – an alien landscape that makes it hard to believe anyone lives this far south. When I landed and made my way into the only real city in the region, Punta Arenas, I had no more answers to why people would make this harsh place their home. I dunno, maybe they just really like penguins or something.

Punta Arenas (pronounced put-eet-in-her-arse) has some nice colonial buildings in the centre of town, but is mainly a rambling mess of sheet metal shacks and flat-roofed boxes, with little to set the heart racing. I guess the best way to describe it is functional – the city faces brutal weather, and the simple architecture reflects that. If you’re a connoisseur of crack dens, however, you’ll adore it.

The main reasons for heading to Punta Arenas are to use it as a stopover on the way to Antarctica or Puerto Natales, but it does have a few interesting things to see. There’s a brilliant recreation of the 27-metre-long Nao Victoria which is a few kilometres out of town, that’s like a wet dream come true for history and boat buffs. The original ship was part of the fleet that discovered Chile, and was the first to circumnavigate the globe, but has since been turned into a chicken hatchery or something. I didn’t actually get to visit it because it was in the opposite direction of the pub, but my dad reckons it’s tops. He also reckons I’m the funniest and coolest person he’s ever met, so I trust his judgement. Heres a photo of him in front of the ship with his pensioner travelling group, Geezers Overseas-ers.

Of more interest to heavy drinkers like me is the Austral brewery, which is located right in the middle of town. Austral is a delicious lager that’s been brewed right here in Patagonia for more than a century, and when I heard that they offer tours of the brewery I raced out there with visions of drinking thousands of litres of fresh booze. Sadly, the whole thing was locked up and looking abandoned when I got there, and when I begged for a beer through the fence a little bloke came out and shooed me off with a broom, so I grabbed a six pack from the shops and got pissed down by the beach.

Punta Arenas doesn’t offer stunning vistas or world-famous landmarks, but it does offer insight into the realities of living in such an extreme part of the planet. It’s a tough industrial town that feels like it’s an eternity from anywhere. It’ll never rival Venice, Prague or Wattanobbi for beauty, but it has an unpolished charm that offers a weird appeal. Nobody enters Punta Arenas without using it to go somewhere prettier (Sofía Vergara’s chubby best friend is in a similar position), but it has a bit of personality and makes for a decent arvo out. Next!

Santiago Shenanigans

The winds carried me and my bright orange paraglider across the oceans. Over Samoa, where the volcanoes are angry and the people are wonderful. Past Fiji, with its golden beaches and endless reefs. I even swung past Easter Island, which is full of heads bigger and uglier than your ex-girlfriend’s. When the breeze finally dropped me from its loving arms, I found myself in a strange city surrounded by imposing mountains and populated by the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. I asked a little bloke who was digging through a bin where I was, and he told me, “Senor, you is in San Diego!”

“No I’m fucking not,” I told him, looking around at the throngs of people who swept around us. “I’ve been to San Diego and the women have arse cracks you could park a Sid Fogg’s in. And I haven’t had a wannabe tough guy try to stab me with a rusty kitchen knife yet. Where am I really?”

“Not San Diego, fuckwit,” he spat, whilst juggling a soccer ball. “You is in chilly!”

“It’s not chilly, you goose, it’s about 24 degrees and sunny,” I chuckled, then swaggered off to check out my surroundings.

Turns out I was in a place called Santiago, Chile, which I would’v learnt earlier if the locals didn’t run me around in circles. I traded my paraglider in for a six-pack of Austral and started exploring, and ended up discovering one of the most unusual cities I’ve been to It can be beautifu one minute, with elegant European buildings, exotic parks and brightly-coloured houses, and hideous the next, with poverty and dirt smeared everywhere. In many ways it reminds me of South African cities, with two disparate worlds somehow existing together.

Santiago is known for its food, and I was bombarded with options as I walked around. The mouth-watering scent of sizzling beef and chicken wafts through the streets, and it seems like the locals are constantly shoving something in their gobs. The main options are empanadas, which are a relation of the glorious meat pie, and completos, which are fully-loaded hotdogs. My dad has often regaled me with stories of all the foot-longs he gobbled in South America, so I was relieved to discover he was actually talking about hotdogs, and not man-dogs. There are also plenty of pizza places and hamburger shops, so if you’re looking to chuck on some weight this is where you should be.

I saw a big hill with some sort of statue at the top, so I downed an icy cold can in one gulp and sauntered that way to see what was up. The path up to the top of Cerro San Cristóbal is poorly signposted and difficult to find (and possibly closed, since there was a big barrier in the way), but that didn’t stop meclimbing up there. The path is poorly maintained and eroded in many places, but the sweeping views back over Santiago make it more than worthwhile. Once I made it to the top, I realised there’s a cable carand some sort of train that canbe usedto scale it easily, but unless you’re a fat cunt or you once stepped on a landmine, I suggest making the 45 minute trek.

The main reason for scaling San Cristóbal is to check out the view, but that’s not all that’s up there. The statue, as it turns out, is of the Virgin Mary and stands 14 metres tall. Alright, she’s not as big as certain other hilltop religious statues I’ve encountered, but she’s still pretty impressive. There are also cafes (that don’t serve beer – trust me, I asked) and some little museums that I didn’t bother with. If you ever visit Santiago, you’ll end up at San Cristóbal at some point it would be like going to New York and not visiting the Statue of Liberty, or going to Wyong and not shitting on the floor of the public toilets.

I was pulling down my shorts so that I could takeone of my popular Drunk and Jobless World Tour Nude Selfies™ when a couple of horse police (police on horses, I mean. Not horses who have found emplyment in the police force) rocked up and politely suggested I fuckoff. I’m grabbed a cheap room in a hipster-filled part of the city known as Bellavista, which if full of bars and live music joints. Energetic Chilean rock bounces between the intricately-painted buildings and smoking hotsenoritas walk around in next to nothing, so it’s the place to be. The bars are great, with plenty of al fresco seating options, but the beers are a bit pricey – around six Aussie dollaridgeridoos each. The quality is top notch though, with Kross Golden proving a standout.

Needless to say, I got smashed on cheap supermarket beer in a nearby park and passed out halfway through eating a chicken and olive stuffed empenada. I’m stoked to be exploring my sixth continent (which means I’ve hit them all, except for the one that’s run by penguins) and have decided to hang around for the next nine or so weeks, so stick around for more mesmerising entries. Chile is already surprising and delighting me, and I can’t wait to see what else this bonkers country has to offer.

73 or 74 reasons to visit Russia

The mission to Moscow is over and I’m back in a country where I can walk down the street without being questioned by the cops or attacked by some vodka-guzzling nutter in an imitation Adidas tracksuit. Here are a whole bunch of reasons why you should visit this most unusual country (or, if you enjoy tropical beaches, blue skies and people who have a full compliment of teeth, reasons why you should stay away from Russia). Spasibo for reading, and if these rather dreary photos are getting you down, don’t worry! The Drunk and Jobless World Tour will continue on Australia’s Sunshine Coast – don’t forget your bikini!

Russia: A Place For Penguins

Moscow isn’t known for its beautiful climate, but I was still ill-prepered for the arctic conditions that Russia welcomed me with. I knew things were going to be bad when my plane descended through clouds as thick as a Mount Druitt schoolkid, and my fears were confirmed when I stepped out of the airport to be met by a day colder than a snowman’s arsehole. Fortunately my lady friend Lena was there to warm me up with a cuddle and then race my back to her place.

With the temperature outside struggling to climb past four degrees, Lena introduced me to the way Russians keep warm on cold days. Get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert, I mean that she served me a bowl of delicious borscht (soup) and then we started knocking back shots of vodka at 9:30am. I’ve gotta say that if I ever move to Russia, it won’t take me a long time to adapt to their way of life.

Despite smashing shots for 15 hours, I still managed to get up the next morning, squeeze into my singlet, and head out into the metropolis for a run. It was so fucking cold I’m surprised my dick didn’t get frostbite, and the Moscovians who I ran past – each dressed in woollen hats, ski jacket and gloves – stared at me as if I was afucking idiot. Honestly, a three-legged alien could’ve beamed down and start fucking a dog, and the locals would’ve looked at it with less surprise than they showed me.

After making it back to Lena’s place and warming up by, well, let’s just say eating soup so as to keep it PG for the kiddies, we headed out to Rainbow Park to hold hands and chase ducks. In a city packed with crumbling Soviet-era towers and crowded motorways, it’s a welcome oasis. Loyal readers of D&J would be aware that I’ve got a history of stripping off, but I though Lena’s already-dwindling level of respect for me would dwindle if she was to see me nude up in freezing conditions, so I kept my gear on the whole time. I guess this is growing up.

Russian parks are brilliant, and apart from the lovely landscaping and impressive selection of local and international plants and flowers, are packed with all sorts of excercise equipment. There was even a full-sized boxing ring – apparently the locals assemble there on saturdays to sort out their grievances. Husbands punch on with wives, employees throw fists at bosses, pensioners lay the smackdown on paperboys who keep chucking the Moscow Times in the bush rather than on the doorstep. If I prove to be annoying, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lena drags me back there on the weekend so she can kick me in the nuts in front of a bloodthirsty crowd.

BEER OF THE DAY – SOME STUFF I GOT IN A PLASTIC BOTTLE FROM THE CORNER SHOP

Like most places in Europe, Russia has a fantastic selection of beers at dirt cheap prices. While the cans and bottles of local and imported piss are great, there’s a better option. Most corner shops have beer taps, so it’s possible to purchase freshly-poured draught beer in 1.5 litre bottles. Drinking from a brown plastic bottle in a park makes you feel like a filthy wino, but the quaity of the brew ensures you won’t wake up the next morning feeling like a group of skinheads have been stomping on your face. Highly recommended!

Flic en Flac (yes, that’s the actual name of an actual place)

I’ve been to some oddly-named beaches over the years – Tasmania’s Eggs and Bacon Bay stands out – and I think I’ve found the weirdest of all time. It’s called Flick en Flack, it’s on the west coast of Mauritius, and it’s a pretty groovy place to hang out and smash a few beers. Just look at these photos, it’s awesome. Mainly, though, it’s fun to just say the name over and over again.

There’s one long beach that stretches for kilometres, plenty of palm trees, clear water, and golden sand that is mostly free of rubbish and dead birds. There are a few resorts along the water, which means there’s no shortage of plump Russians slowly turning crimson in the tropical sun. I can’t afford to stay in any of the resorts, so I’m looked down upon by the rich Europeans sipping their expensive cocktails, but I figure I won’t be the one having a heart attack in the next two months, so I win.

Yep, Flic en Flac is a top little town, and I reckon it’s a lot nicer than Grand Baie because the beach is better and it’s a bit quieter. I also prefer it because I saw three sets of boobies today. Mauritius is definitely a place where couples come to kiss each other, so a handsome single man like myself has to take what he can get. And what I’m getting right now is pissed on cheap cans of Phoenix while watching the sunset, so enjoy these photos… or just feel jealous of me. How’s the weather where you are at the moment?

Lion Strong beer is truly awful

DSC01430

Beer isn’t easy to come across in Sri Lanka,so when I found a restaurant near my hotel that sells cans of God’s Golden Nectar (alright, the little fellas run down the street and buy it from some bloke and then race back with it, but it’s the same thing), I thought I was in heaven. To make things better, the beer in question, Lion Strong has an alcohol percentage of 8.8 – enough to kill a full-grown elephant.

I ordered five cans and carried them back to my room as carefully as if I were carrying the holy grail. I chucked some music on, took a seat on the balcony overlooking the ocean, and took a big swig of beer… Or, at least, I was expecting it to be beer, because what filled my mouth tasted like a mixture of unleaded petrol and runny dog shit.

Lion Strong can barely be called a beer. It tastes more like cheap, canned bourbon and coke due to the high alcohol content, and has a horrible, syrupy texture. It’s absolutely putrid. I was gagging like a midget in a blowbang as I tried to force the dirty water down my throat, and the locals probably thought I was dying, and planning to chuck me in that night’s curry.

While it’s a truly revolting drink, Lion Strong packs a massive punch, and after five cans I was fucking smashed and passed out under a palm tree, only to wake up with an old Sri Lankan woman stroking my hair and calling me a pretty baby. I think I’ll stay away from the Lion Strongs from now on.

DSC01437

Sober in Sri Lanka

DSC01372

After a few days scratching around the grimiest backstreets Sri Lanka has to offer, today I finally got to take a refreshing dip in the calm, blue waters of the Bay of Bengal. I’ve set up camp in Trincomalee, a seemingly endless stretch of golden sand fringed by swaying palms. There are certainly worse places to stuff around in for a few weeks, that’s for bloody sure.

DSC01369
The beach is pretty grouse

I’m staying right on the beach, with nothing but the ocean to look out on. Trinco (as all the cool people say – and some cockheads, probably) isn’t heavily developed, with just a smattering of hotels along the water. Go back a street and it’s a typical Sri Lankan village – busy and dirty, with little dudes storming around for the sake of appearing busy and cows standing around shitting all over the place.

DSC01348
“Hey cow, I ate your mother!”

It really is a very nice place to sit back, relax, and smash a bunch of beers… Or it would be, if Sri Lanka didn’t have a bunch of weird laws that ensure that having a few drinks is a difficult endeavour. After rocking up on the bus, I just wanted a beer, and set out into the streets to find a place willing to sell me one. In Negombo they had specific shops with huge ‘BEER’ signs out the front, and in Kandy alcohol was available at the supermarket, so I didn’t think it would be hard. I was wrong.

DSC01353
Honestly, what is this thing? This is the sort of shit I see when I don’t drink

I swaggered into the first shop I found and asked for a beer, only to be met by confused looks, as if I’d asked if they had any chickens I could fuck. They finally told me of a place down the road that could help me out, so I trotted off down there. When I asked them, they gave me a confused look and then pointed me towards the first place.

DSC01351
Look how DISGUSTED I am by the lack of beer

I know Sri Lanka’s a developing country, but they need to sort their alcohol situation out. A bloke should be able to walk up the road and get himself a bloody beer on a hot afternoon. I ended up walking a round trip of 8km, only to come back empty handed and sadly sober. I settled for a beer at my hotel, which set me back $3.50 for a small bottle – hardly the cheap drinking experience I expected from one of the world’s poorest countries.

DSC01374
The view from the bar ain’t bad, though

That’s the story of Sri Lanka, really. While it’s a povvo country like Indonesia or Thailand, it doesn’t provide a typical ‘povvo country’ holiday experience, with cheap accommodation and food. While $25 can get a lovely, modern unit in Bali, $40 gets an absolute shithole of a room in Sri Lanka – mine has bare concrete walls, no air con, and a hole in the ground where the advertised pool was mean to be. Meals are expensive unless you’re willing to risk the street food (I have), with basic meals running north of $10 a pop.

DSC01373
“Move over, I’m gonna dive in the cunt!”

Trinco is a great part of the world, and if the Lankans ever sort out their pricing problems it will become a major tourist destination (and get fucked up in the process). Despite its problems, it’s a laid-back and relaxing village that is a great place to spend a relaxing few days, weeks, or even months. Right now, I’m just going to sit back on the beach with an overpriced beer, watch the sun down, and have a crack at the big-titted Pommy sheila who keeps giving me the eye. It’s a life…

Things to do in Podgorica when you’re dead

DSC09668

Podgorica, the capital of Montenegro, doesn’t make it onto many lists of must-see cities, and for very good reason. While it’s not an unpleasant place, and you won’t get stabbed or raped if you go there, I can’t think of a single reason to visit it rather than any other medium-sized city anywhere on the planet. Well, apart from Huddersfield.

DSC09649
Me and some dickhead on a horse

I had to spend a eight hours in Podgorica before catching a bus to the Macedonian capital of Skopje, which was about seven hours too long. There’s just not much to look at – the river that runs through town is wet, but not particularly pretty. The Turkish Old Town is covered in graffiti. The most prominent landmark, the Millennium Bridge, is celebrated by locals but looks like any little bridge in any town you’ve ever seen. Alright, the women are all pretty, which is a bonus if you’re a sex tourist or something.

DSC09643
Looks like a nice place to have a wedding

The city centre is pretty flat and boring, with a bunch of three story buildings clustered together and not much else. It feels more like a country town than a national capital. I became confused for a while and thought I was in Wyong, and wondered why dickheads with tattoos weren’t trying to punch me while homeless dudes urinated on my leg.

DSC09678
The bustling main street of Podgorica

That’s one thing you don’t see much of in Europe – tattoos. Every dumbarse in Australia is loaded up with stough stickers, and most of the women have shit ink all over their bodies, but not over here. They might eat weird food, smell funny, and talk like they’ve got dog shit in their mouths, but at least they don’t think it’s good to have a tattoo of Spider-Man above their buttholes.

DSC09674
The river would be nice to swim in, if not for all the crocodiles and dead dogs

The most exciting thing I saw in Podgorica was a pervert – who also might be the mayor of the city, according to some locals I was magging to – started flashing children as they walked past him, enjoying the sunshine. Apart from that, he seemed like a nice enough bloke.

DSC09665
The sicko, obviously masturbating in public

Oh, and speaking of thin, slimy things, I saw a fucking SNAKE slithering around like he owned the fucking joint.

DSC09658
Get fucked, you legless bastard!

After oohing and ahhing over the small number of statues in the centre of the square, and remarking at all the unfinished buildings strewn around the joint, I’d exhausted my list of sighyseeing options and spent the afternoon eating pizza and drinking beer. The Petra Cetinjskog boulevard is actually quite lovely, with plenty of trees and nice little bars and restaurants to get pissed at.

DSC09684
Not a bad pizza

After drinking my bodyweight in Tuborg and eating enough pizza to have Rebel Wilson tapping out (who am I kidding, that fat slug would eat pizza till her sides split), I staggered back to the river, stripped off and flaunted my wares as the sun went down. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen in the city, and small children danced around me with sparklers in their hands.

DSC09691
One at a time, ladies!

Alright, so my travel advice for Podgorica is

  • Don’t fucking bother going there
  • Watch out for snakes
  • And perverts
  • If you have to spend time there, get really drunk or take up a heavy heroin habit, AND
  • If you’re going to masturbate in public, the local cops can be easily outrun

So, yep, that’s Podgorica. Next!

DSC09692

Parnu: Centre of the Universe

DSC01242

It’s time to get out of Tallinn, so today I headed to the world famous city of Parnu! PARNU! PARNUUUUUUU! What, you haven’t heard of it? It’s a little place on the western coast of Estonia, and the country’s summer capital. It’s where all the rich folk from Tallinn head when the weather stops being so damn cold, and is a bit of a resort town. However, I decided to visit out of season and in the middle of the week, so it’s been deader than a married woman’s libido.

DSC01181
Parnu’s bustling main street

There’s not a lot to Parnu, but what there is of it is pleasant enough. There’s a touristic main street with cute little wooden buildings and plenty of souvenir shops, a few parks that are, well, there, and lots of restaurants and bars scattered around the place. There’s also a shop for the city’s alkos.

DSC01190
The girl in the shop was shocked but impressed by my Raiders jersey

Parnu’s most famous landmarks are its twin breakwalls, which each extend more than two kilometres into the ocean. They’re not overly impressive, but dickhead here obviously had to walk all the way out to the end of one of them, and scrambling over all those rocks wasn’t an easy (or fast task). Tradition states that if a person makes it to the end while holding the love of their life the whole way, they’ll stay together forever. So, of course, I held my dick – I know you’ll always be there for me, baby.

DSC01228
I look like I’ve got a bad case of crabs. I don’t though… swear

There’s a wide, white-sand beach a few hundred metres south of the centre of Parnu, and I’m sure it would be lovely under the right conditions (say, 25 degrees, with heaps of cute Estonian sheilas frolicking around in tiny bikinis, maybe getting a bit lezzy with each other, and heaps of cold beer), but it’s a little bit creepy when the temperature is in single digits and even that’s outnumbering the people on the sand. Still, I was treated to a delightful sunset and one of the more unsual beach walks I’ve ever had.

DSC01257
Goodbye, Mr Sun (actually, that sounds like an Asian remake of Goodbye, Mr Chips)

It’s easy to see that Parnu would be a great place to stay when the weather’s warm and the whole town is humming with happy people, but it’s a little bit sleepy and lacking in interesting things to do at any other time. The main reason I’m here is to visit the nearby Soomaa National Park, which I’ll be doing tomorrow. It’s probably for the best – there’s only so many times you can walk along the bloody breakwall!

DSC01270
Alright, who let off the nuclear bomb?

Beer of the day:

I smashed three pints of Saku at Steffani’s, but I didn’t smash Steffani, because it’s a pizza shop, not a lady. I’ve gotta say, Saku is a fantastic beer – really clean and clear, and so bloody easy to drink. Puts most Aussie beers to shame, so it’s no wonder it’s the pride of Estonia!

DSC01293

Kebab of the day:

Today’s kebab was a pizza, which I also enjoyed at Steffani’s. Estonian pizzas are weird, because they coat everything in a thick layer of blue cheese, but it was a top meal after not having eaten anything of substance in two days.

DSC01287